


The White Egret

by Hannibals_Jorts



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Fishing, Food Porn, Friendship, M/M, Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-25
Updated: 2015-06-25
Packaged: 2018-04-06 04:38:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4208232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hannibals_Jorts/pseuds/Hannibals_Jorts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will and Hannibal spend a pleasant day fishing, eat an amazing meal, and ponder the nature of morality.<br/>If you have any comments I'd love to hear them!</p>
            </blockquote>





	The White Egret

Water lapped against the row boat's hull. 

_I prefer fly-fishing, but I have to admit, this is pretty nice. There’s something about getting into a boat and pushing off from shore… a surrender of a sort. You’re leaving behind land and trusting the boat, the pilot, your life jacket, the water, the weather… I suppose that’s true of any time you leave the house, though._

Will didn’t share these thoughts with the boat’s other occupant. 

It had taken hours to achieve their current silence. First came the initial fidgets: paying out line, reeling it back, fiddling with lures, opening the bait box, seats creaking and gumboots thudding hollow steps against the wooden hull as they shifted to get comfortable. Morning frost burned off and the day waxed; silence settled around them as their cushions did their thighs. He was loath to move, to say anything. The fish weren’t biting, and he didn’t care.

Cicadas buzzed in the tall summer-green grass at the little lake’s edge; birds twittered a monotony from the trees on the shore, and he could swear even the clouds drew across the sky with whispers like silk on skin. 

Movement, and the boat rocked. Will, broken from his reverie, glanced back. 

_The day’s grown warm,_ Hannibal’s eyes said as he shrugged off his khaki vest. Sweat sparkled on the high, lordly forehead and his hair lay in dark blades on his neck. Ever the gentleman, Hannibal would never break a silence if he could help it. 

_Is it noon already?_ Will realized, glancing at the golden disk. _Seems like we just cast out._ But it was so; now he realize he had been breathing in sync with the cicadas for the past hour. 

_I’m hungry,_ he realized. 

He glanced at the cooler, raising his eyebrows at his old friend. 

Hannibal followed his gaze and nodded. “I could eat.” Without being asked, he set aside his rod and shipped the oars. A few flexes of the broad shoulders brought the little boat’s hull to the stony shore. 

They sat on rocks, the cooler between them like an altar, and used a third as a table. 

Hannibal’s hands moved to the cooler, began laying containers out on a white linen cloth with surgical precision. “We have silkie chicken wings in a molasses, mangrove honey, and citrus glaze; roasted tricolor potatoes cut into slivers and dusted with black truffle salt; and an avgolemono dipping sauce of bleu cheese and egg whites. For refreshment, I bottled my latest brew last night, a dark vanilla porter with a creamy head.” A corner of his mouth raised, the edges of his coppery eyes crinkled. “For you, I brought your favorite: the northern brown ale with hints of honey and sweet orange peel.” Powerful hands popped the beer cap off as if the crimped metal were no more than wax. 

As he brought the Tupperware containers out of the cooler, Hannibal’s eye skipped over Will’s contribution: a bottle of Hidden Valley Ranch and a sandwich in a plastic triangle, both purchased from the gas station that morning. _I don't know what I was thinking when I bought that shit. Thank God he didn’t notice._

Will grinned as Hannibal handed him the bottle of home brew. The first sip tasted like coming home.

They ate without speaking, each listening to the sounds of the other’s meal. 

The wings’ glaze filled Will’s mouth with the warmth of a bright summer morning; tart dipping sauce teased his tongue like the first cool wind signaling summer’s end, a perfect accompaniment. He wondered how on earth Hannibal had managed to store roasted, cold potatoes so that they came out of the cooler plump, crisp, and delectable. All Will’s attempts to reheat potatoes resulted in twisted, shriveled bits like mummy fingers.

Soon the food was gone, and there was just the wind and the men. 

At the water’s edge, a snowy egret stalked minnows. Curly white tendrils depended from the egret’s tail, swaying like a frock coat as it moved. Mating plumage. 

Hannibal followed his gaze, and considered the bird. “What do you see, Will?” 

Will drew in a breath, his nostrils flaring as he gathered his thoughts. “I see… elegance. Also a kind of… sophisticated innocence that I didn’t think could exist. Generally you think of sophistication and innocence as being two different things, as being inherently opposite.” 

Hannibal tilted his head. “Not necessarily. Animals are innocent in their knowledge of morality, but sophisticated in their survival. They are the purest killers. He wears his intent to survive as boldly as he does his coat of plumes.”

Will nodded. The egret impaled something small and squirming on its bill, then unfurled angelic wings and rose into the air. It disappeared in the nearby trees.

Will sipped from his bottle, looking up at the sky. “Did you bring any ice cream?” 

“Of course, Will.”


End file.
